Nightmares
by Nikku
Summary: Nightmares have become a part of Dilandau's life, but when he dreams of the death of his dragonslayers, is it just a dream? Or maybe a vision?
1. Prologue

(A/N OK, this is my first ever Escaflowne fan fiction, so please if you review no flames - only constructive criticism will be accepted. It is a slightly AU fic, and the events are completely independent from the timeline of Escaflowne)  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own Escaflowne. If I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction for it.  
  
Prologue  
  
Nightmares. They haunted him. In his waking he was surrounded by death - a lot of it he himself had caused, and now the deaths that plagued his life infested his dreams filling his unconsciousness with terror. No matter what he did he couldn't escape them.   
  
He was sat in his room, slumped in a comfortable armchair in front of the roaring fire that he had insisted on being installed. The soft crackling of the flames was comforting and he allowed himself to be lulled by the gentle shapes the flames created. He found much comfort in fire - he was drawn to its destructive properties and unpredictability. It drove fear into many people's hearts.  
  
Placing the half empty wine glass that he had in his hand on the little wooden table next to him, he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands while never taking his eyes off of the flames.  
  
Night after night he had tried to stay awake, not submitting himself to the torture that sleep brought. But his attempts were in vain, as that just brought on waking dreams - he would still see the faces of the men, women and children that he had mercilessly slaughtered, but not in his private dream world. The spirits chose then to actually be with him while he was in the physical world of consciousness. That was much worse.   
  
He remembered one particular time when he had refused to sleep after a gruelling battle - the gaunt dead faces had been with him in his room. Every time had had turned around he saw their dead eyes staring at him, he saw their maimed bodies in the reflection of his mirror, their blood filled his cup instead of wine. He remembered running in a blind panic into Folken's room, half crying, when the spirits wouldn't leave him alone.   
  
He didn't even believe in ghosts, well he supposed he did now - it was hard to ignore the haunting figures that invaded his sleep and sometimes his waking.   
  
Sighing, he lay back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't win. Subconsciously he brought up his right hand and began to stroke the scar that run the full length of his right cheek. The familiar touch of his ungloved hand finding the tear in his otherwise flawless skin gave him some form of comfort.   
  
He had tried various sedatives that Folken had given him, to try and send him into a deep sleep so he didn't dream, but they didn't work - he always woke up screaming and sweating, the nightmare still strongly imprinted in his mind.   
  
Only Folken knew of the torture he was submitted to each night. He laughed slightly - the very idea of he, Dilandau Albatou, going to anyone for help was so absurd. He was the most feared single person in the entire Zaibach army! Grown men feared him; his deathly pale skin and blood red eyes, his murderous attitude, and his lust for battle drove fear into their hearts.   
  
It was not only the fact of him needing help that was so absurd, but also his choice in who to go to for help. Folken Lacour de Fanel had a reputation in his fortress, the Vione, as being very aloof and unsociable - he hardly conversed with anyone and preferred to spend all of his time cooped up in his laboratory.   
  
Dilandau reached for the glass once again and took a small sip of the pinkish liquid. Maybe he should tell his men about the nightmares. He knew how strongly they all felt for him and would have tried to help him in some way, but he didn't want them to worry about it. He had a horrible thought of losing his concentration during battle, because of lack of sleep and haunting visions, and his dragon slayers worrying about him and dying because of their lack of attentiveness.   
  
Maybe just his elite then - they had all been trained to uttermost perfection and he knew that such an error wouldn't be made on their behalf, and he knew that the six of them would jump at the chance to get to know him better.  
  
But what could they do? Every single one of his dragon slayers was under the age of seventeen. They were just children - no, he had made the right choice in trusting Folken, who had extensive medical knowledge and years of scientific research under his belt.   
  
His body felt so tired - everything ached to lay down and rest - his taught muscles begged to rest from the hard days work but he didn't want to close his eyes. It was his loving of war; his passion for fire, his entire life revolving around taking the lives of others was tearing his soul from him. People admired him for he ability to swiftly kill anyone he pleased. Yes, he could kill as part of following orders, but in the heat of the battle, he killed for the pure love of killing. It was this twisted love that was torturing him while he slept.   
  
He knew he would never be free as he lived to fight. But, he didn't know how much longer he could live with the constant fear in the back of his mind that he would never be able to rest again. 


	2. Chapter 1

(A/N, ok people, here is the next chapter, though I don't like it as much as the first - review and tell me what you think! I would like to thank the reviewers so much! Seriously, you can not imagine how happy I am to know that people actually like this!  
  
Oh, Feye Morgan: You will just have to wait and see what the fates of the Dragonslayers are ^_^)  
  
Disclaimer - I do not own Escaflowne U_U   
  
Chapter 1   
  
"Where is Lord Dilandau?" asked Gatti as he sat in his place near the head of the Dragonslayer's table. The first thing he had noticed, as he placed down the tray with his breakfast, was that his Lord's seat was empty. He looked around expectantly at his fellow elite. However, he wasn't answered.   
  
Miguel and Dallet looked up at him, acknowledged his presence and shrugged off the question, going back to their own conversations while picking at what remained of their breakfast.   
  
Shesta seemed to be in his own little world, eating his breakfast slowly but occasionally casting glances to the other soldiers in the cafeteria. The other soldiers that were looking at the dragon slayers were doing so with various expressions of dislike upon their faces.   
  
Viole and Guimel were arguing, Viole very animatedly; what about, Gatti neither knew nor cared. He picked up fragments of their conversation to know that it wasn't serious, but didn't bother in trying to know exactly what they were arguing about - he had something more important to do than concern himself with petty arguments. He looked over to them expectantly, but they just continued.  
  
"But you can't say that..." Guimel explained exasperatedly, banging his fists slightly on the table.  
  
"Why not? It is a perfectly good reason..." Viole said, trying to make the tone of his voice reflect the seriousness of his words but the lighthearted undertone to his voice ruined the attempt. He ran a hand through his unruly long curly hair, making the dark tendrils fall into his eyes.   
  
"It isn't though, because..."   
  
Gatti raised his eyebrows but didn't ask. He cleared his throat.   
  
"Where is Lord Dilandau?" He asked again, louder. Everyone at the head of the table was silent for a moment, all their attention drawn to Gatti.   
  
"I don't know, I haven't seen him since yesterday morning, during sparring." Miguel said, for once not seeming to be annoyed at having his conversation interrupted. Miguel hated being interrupted - he was very opinionated and liked to finish what he was saying. Dallet nodded vigorously in agreement, sending his shoulder length brown hair flying.   
  
"I saw him briefly, going into Lord Folken's lab yesterday afternoon - he didn't speak to me though" Guimel chipped in, his voice a little agitated as a result of the argument with Viole, who had begun to practically attack his now cold forgotten breakfast.  
  
"W...hy wa he goi..n i' ther...?" Viole asked his mouth full of the neglected food.   
  
"What?" Miguel asked coldly, disliking any form if mess.   
  
"Perhaps Folken was briefing him for the next mission?" said Shesta answering Viole's question. Gatti had thought the young looking slayer had been oblivious to the conversation, but he had been surprisingly attentive.   
  
"We would have been told by now, wouldn't we?" Dallet asked, Shesta shrugged as way of reply and sunk back into his quiet daydreaming state, though he did look a little troubled by something.   
  
"Well, as he isn't here I'll take command." Gatti said as he turned to the lower ranking dragon slayers who had probably not heard the conversation at the head of the table. "Lord Dilandau is unavailable so I am instructing you, as second in command, to commence your normal daily routine unless told otherwise. Any problems?" There was a mutter of "where's Lord Dilandau?" but overall everyone was fine with arrangement.   
  
It wasn't the first time that Lord Dilandau had left Gatti in charge - it was the reason he had the job of second in command. Gatti was usually the one left with the information on what missions they had to prepare for; typically the reason Dilandau wasn't there with them himself.   
  
Lord Dilandau trusted the young fair-haired slayer to take good care of his men, but it was actually Shesta did that. Gatti could instruct and train the younger and less experienced soldiers, not as well as Dilandau but to a decent level. But it was Shesta who they went to with a problem. Gatti was a good choice for second in command - he could lead a team and follow orders, fight hand to hand or with a sword, and ride well - Shesta who excelled in sword fighting, was also very good with people. It was this ability that surprisingly made him into one of Dilandau's favourites.   
  
"Sir?" A young man of about twenty years approached with caution to the Dragonslayer's table and addressed Gatti, who was still on his feet. .   
  
"Yes?" He turned his attention to the man, his face closed - he did not like dealing with any of the other soldiers in the Vione, none of the slayers did. It was no secret that the dragon slayers were disliked by most of the soldiers; mostly because of the fact they were all very young and yet seemed to be favourites for the emperor. The dragon slayers got similar accommodation and food to the high-ranking generals, and worked through Folken who was one of the emperor's pet scientists. The dragonslayers were only sent on the most important missions.   
  
"I have a message from Lord Folken, sir."   
  
"Oh?" The elite turned their attention towards the man, their attention caught by Folken's name.   
  
"He said that Lord Dilandau was busy this morning but would join you at dinner for the afternoon, sir."  
  
"Did he say why?" Shesta inquired.   
  
"No, sir." The slayers glanced at each other - that was odd. Usually the reason why Dilandau was not with them was because he was preparing for the next mission. They had never been in the dark about his absence.   
  
"Well, better get to training. Miguel, could you spar with Viole?"  
  
"Ok, but he had better not mess around like he usually does." Miguel said bluntly looking at the younger slayer out of the corner of his eye.   
  
"Fine, if Viole messes around you can spar with Dallet." Gatti said. "Otherwise, Guimel and Dallet pair up and Shesta and I will train the lower ranking slayers."   
  
The elite left the table, marching proudly out of the cafeteria, with the lower ranking slayers at their heels.   
  
Some of the soldiers from other units glared at the group of young men, but didn't dare do anything to vent their jealousy - no one liked to have a run in with Dilandau, as he was very protective of his dragon slayers.   
  
***  
  
Good? Bad? Please review! 


	3. Chapter 2

(A/N, well this is my favourite chapter so far - great fun to write! I really hope that everyone enjoys this ^_^. Reviewers; thank you all so much!   
  
Rammstein fan - Thanks! There will be more Folken, especially in the next chapter...  
  
Yukishin - Thanks - this soon enough?   
  
Jhoeydagger - Thank you - I am glad that you like this fic ^_^  
  
Dreamingofflyingaway - Thank you ^_^ I look forward to your reviews!  
  
Sundari - Thank you, I know how annoying it is waiting for a fic to be updated, though unfortunately there may be a longer gap between chapters now as I am back at school U_U  
  
Feye Morgan - Isn't Shesta so cute!?! ^_^ eeep - I promise to keep writing... please don't hurt me... ^_^* OH BTW PLEASE UPDATE "TO MEND THE ROSE!" or it will be you who suffers from my wrath! ^_^   
  
Chapter 2  
  
The city was burning. The once proud tall buildings were wreathed in flame, now reduced to rubble and ash. The sky was dark - great black clouds blocked out any light, sharply contrasting with the red glow of the fire. The flames cracked dangerously consuming everything in their path and choking black smoke billowed out. Torrents of a dark liquid pooled out of the few buildings that were still left standing.   
  
He stood alone in the middle of the wrecked city, his ghostly white appearance sharply pale against the fetid darkness. His pale skin seemed to glow and his silver hair caught the light of the fire, making him stand out. All around him was smoke and ash. The city seemed completely deserted apart from him, but the human screams of terror and moans of pain contradicted that thought.   
  
"Where... where am I?" He asked aloud. His question was not answered or even heard over the crackling of the flames and the distant crashing of falling buildings. The constat cries were evidence that there were some who had survived the inferno. He gazed around - he didn't recognise the city at all. He coughed and his eyes were beginning to water at the amount of smoke in the air - he had to move from the spot he was in or he would choke. He stumbled forward, his armoured boots catching on the rubble and splashed through the foul smelling liquid, making it spray up onto his armour. He mentally thanked the Gods that he still had some form of protection!   
  
He set off, trying to locate the source of the crying; but the streets were deserted, filling him with a strange sense of foreboding. He could feel an oppressive atmosphere about the place; a sense of dread overtook him, and the cries of the people were haunting him more and more with each tentative step he took. But he couldn't see anyone. The voices were so close and yet no one was there. He folded his arms across himself in an instinctive protective manner, quickening his pace, but if anything the voices became closer. Now he could hear pleas for mercy, cries for others to be spared, all followed by howls of misery and pain. He put his hands over his ears and ran forwards - he didn't want to hear any more!   
  
"Please leave her alone... stop it, please... no, please no...." He could still hear them - men, women, children - all of them in agony! Out of the corner of his eye Dilandau saw a movement - a ghostly image was before him; a young man standing in front of a woman, his wife, pleading for her life to be spared. He was cut to ribbons in seconds by a shadow clad figure, his blood spraying onto her huddled body. In her arms was a young child, but the shadowed figure moved forward and both were dead in seconds. Her scream slashed through Dilandau, shaking him to the bone. He yelled and screwed his eyes shut. More images like that were appearing before Dilandau - it seemed as if the very air was made up of nothing but the souls of the dead; the murdered, all different, yet all sharing one common link - the only solid looking figure in the ghostly images; the shadow of a young man.   
  
The people being killed were all different - some civilians, some soldiers. All had their own unique cry, plea, and moans of pain. Some died quickly, others were tortured. Dilandau couldn't escape them. When he shut his eyes he saw them - he could always hear them.   
  
"L...Leave me alone!" He tried to shout, snarl, at the images to go away, but they didn't hear him, or listen to him. He lashed out, trying to strike the nearest one but his arm just went straight through the figures. Tears of terror were streaming down his cheeks, his eyes wide and darting around wildly from image to image. His hands shook as he tried to draw his sword, but it just fell from his grasp. His breathing was fast and harsh and his heart was beating like a wild animal in his chest. Right from when he first saw the shadow he knew who it was. The shadow killing all of those people - it was him. He had killed them all.   
  
"Go away!" He whispered over and over, as if his chant would actually make the images leave. He fell to his knees in the middle of the smoke filled street, his sword lying a few feet away from him. As he fell, he slipped and his arm fell into a grimy puddle of the foul smelling liquid. He quickly snatched his hand away, then glanced at it: the liquid was red. A wave of nausea passed through him as he suddenly realised what it was. They were pools of blood. The streets were filled with blood!   
  
"Leave me alone" He drew himself into the foetal position. He felt sick - the blood all around him was making him feel ill, the smoke choking him, the images were haunting him.   
  
"Who are you?" He looked up at the sound of the childish yet bold voice. Stood in front of him was a young girl of around five years old. She was clad in a simple blue dress and was looking at Dilandau with unmasked curiosity. Although she stood in an ash filled city she didn't have a mark on her. Her shoes were clean even though she must have walked through the gore filled streets. Her golden blonde hair was loose over her shoulders and her big blue eyes made her look the picture of innocence.   
  
Forgetting his fear a little Dilandau sat up. He imagined what he himself would look like, covered in ash and blood. "What are you doing here?" she asked brightly. Dilandau was just about to answer when his eyes widened in terror - behind the girl were the shadows. A primative fear surfaced from within the darkest parts of his memory.   
  
"No... no." He said hastily getting to his feet. The girl turned and screamed, putting her arms in front of her face. The shadows materialised into grown men, tall, wearing long swirling cloaks. All of their faces were as pale as death and were looking upon the girl with an almost vamparic gleam in their eyes. They had an aura of death about them as they reached for the girl. They grabbed her cruelly by her arm and dragged her towards them, muttering to themselves about fate alteration.   
  
"Leave her alone" Dilandau's voice was weak, lacking its usual bite, but it was enough to attract the figure's attention.   
  
"So this..." The black clad demon sneered. His voice was flat and low.  
  
"Bring him too." Dilandau's stomach lurched suddenly as he felt icy hands grip his shoulders.  
  
There were two of them behind him - he looked around for his sword but it wasn't there. His clothes has altered - he wasn't in his red and black dragon slayer uniform, but in his undershirt and trousers. He felt so vulnerable without his armour and tried to free himself from the man, but his grip on Dilandau's shoulder was like a vice.   
  
The city faded away and no longer did he feel the sting of smoke in his eyes or the dusty taste in his mouth; now he was in a laboratory - cruel instruments were laid out on a metal trolley next to what looked like an operating table. The harsh light in the room cast terrifying shadows on the faces of the men.   
  
His breathing was haggard and he gasped when, with a single fluid movement, he was lifted and slammed onto the operating table. More hands pinned him into place on his back as they tried to stop his now wild struggling. However he couldn't escape the sharp prick of the injection as a needle entered his arm, sending a burning liquid into his bloodstream. He let out a scream and he felt his vision dim as he was brought back to the world of consciousness.   
  
***  
  
Well? Review review review!!! ^_^ 


	4. Chapter 3

A/N - Sorry this took longer to update than the others - school took up most of my time etc, but it is here now! Not much happens in this chapter, but the next one... that is a different story!  
  
Before I start I would like to thank Ruth for helping me with the editing ^_^  
  
This is where the main differences from the series come into my fic - this isn't based on the timeline of The vision of Escaflowne, so please don't review saying that I have made an plot error, because it was intentional. For the sake of the plot I have made Gaea more "realistic", less fantastical (eg no 'melefs, dragons etc)  
  
OK, reviewers;  
  
dreamingofflyingaway - hehehe ^_^ - thank you so much - I am so pleased that you like my fic! It was Celena, but I haven't decided yet how big a part she will have to play in this. Oh, and randomness rules ^_^  
  
Feye Morgan - Yep, that was one of his nightmares - it was such a fun scene to write. Thank you so much for reviewing! Please update TMtR!!!!  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"Dilandau, wake up." A tall man of about twenty-five years placed one hand on the shoulders of Dilandau who was thrashing wildly, hoping that the contact would be enough to wake him. Dilandau quietened a little at the sound of Folk en's voice and contact, but was still squirming around in obvious discomfort.   
  
"No.... no.... leave her alone!" He murmured, sounding in deep distress as he wrestled with the sheets that clung to him.   
  
"Dilandau" Folken said again, his voice characteristically calm but with an underlying note of concern. This wasn't the first time he had heard cries coming from Dilandau's room, though it was the first time he had investigated them. He had tried everything to try and help the young soldier, but nothing had appeared to work. Up until now he had always let Dilandau sleep, let him get over his night terrors, but they continued to return and haunt him.   
  
He didn't like seeing Dilandau so distressed - contrary to common belief Folken liked him, despite his short temper and arrogance. He didn't like seeing him like this, his face flushed and perspiration breaking out all over his body drenching the sheets and making them stick to him. His face was contorted in terror and his breathing was rough as he fought, or tried to flee from, invisible foes.   
  
Suddenly Dilandau gave an ear-piercing scream and he sat bolt upright clutching his chest breathing heavily, making his visitor jump. Folken then swiftly grabbed Dilandau's shoulders so that he wouldn't overbalance. As soon as Dilandau felt his hands make contact, he instinctively reached for Folken's cloak, and clung to the folds, burying his face in them for comfort. His heart was still beating wildly as the memories of the nightmare were fresh in his mind.   
  
"Its ok, you're awake now." Folken said. Although his voice was, as usual, somewhat emotionless, it gave some comfort to Dilandau, who glanced around the room, still holding himself close to Folken, as if searching for something.  
  
"They... they..." He mumbled, still not properly awake. It took him a few minutes for him to calm down and for his breathing and heartbeat to return to normal. He pulled away from the older man, embarrassed and glared at his commanding officer. "What are you doing in my room?"   
  
"You were having another nightmare; you were screaming a fit to wake the dead! I comforted you." He said calmly.  
  
"Why?" Dilandau inquired. Folken didn't answer - he thought of Dilandau as a younger brother, but he wasn't about to tell the young commander that. Dilandau glared at him again and shook his head as if to rid him of the memory of the nightmare. "What time is it?"   
  
"Nearly noon."   
  
"WHAT? Why didn't you wake me sooner? I can't afford to oversleep with the orders for Emperor Dornkirk due to arrive any day now. I need to train my men." Dilandau quickly got out of bed, and, yawning, purposely strode across his room to his wardrobe and retrieved his dragonslayer uniform. Folken hadn't moved from his place on the bed and watched Dilandau frantically slipping the jacket over his crumpled undershirt that he had slept in while trying to find a clean pair of trousers.   
  
"The orders from Emperor Dornkirk have already arrived - they came this morning."   
  
"What are they?" Dilandau, already irritated by sleeping late and at Folken's actions was now seething mad; why hadn't he been given the report instantly? His voice was now dangerously quiet; his former fear seemed forgotten. He strapped his sword to his waist and then fixed his diadem to his forehead, forcing his wavy hair into some sort of order.  
  
"I have only briefly looked through them, but it seems that your services are not needed for a few days. There is no need to worry about training your men."  
  
"Where are they now? My men, I mean, they will be looking for me."   
  
"They should be on their way to the cafeteria, and I have sent a message saying that you would not join them until this afternoon anyway."  
  
'You planned to let me rest this long?" Dilandau said, still irritated: who was Folken to control when and for how long he was to sleep? He was convinced that if he had not slept for so long he would not have had...that... nightmare.  
  
"You needed the sleep Dilandau. You looked like death warmed up yesterday when you returned from the conflict in Arzas." Retorted Folken. "You never gave me the report for that - was it a success?" At this Dilandau smirked, remembering the glee he had felt when he literally tore apart the resistance group.   
  
"That little backwater city was not a problem - we can now station troops there as planned. " Folken nodded - the success would make the mission he had just received from the Emperor of Zaibach so much easier. Dilandau made for the door, but was struck by a sudden thought.   
  
"I will come for the next mission briefing after dinner", he said. To Folken it seemed that he had recovered from his nightmare and he sounded professional; although Folken could not see his expression as his back was facing him. Dilandau then half turned to Folken and, lowering his voice and dropping the professional manner, eyed Folken and said "Folken, have you thought of any way to make them stop yet?"   
  
Folken shook his head. "I'm sorry."   
  
Dilandau forcefully stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and made his way for the cafeteria so that he could rejoin his dragon slayers.   
  
Folken walked slowly back into his room, unfazed by Dilandau's temper: he knew from experience that the young commander was impetuous and was somewhat used to his short and fiery temper.   
  
He picked up the envelope with the mission briefing that had arrived that morning; Dilandau was to head out to Arzas with the six elite Dragonslayers in five days time then launch a sneak attack on the country of Fanelia; destroy every man made structure, and capture "the dragon." They were to remain anonymous - no crest of Ziabach was to be worn, and the attack must take place under the cover of darkness so that nothing can be linked back to Zaibach.  
  
"Capture the dragon... could that be any more vague?" He muttered to himself as he sat in his chair. A dragon - a mythical creature with the ability to breathe fire. They are marvelled for their strength and intelligence. If he remembered correctly, the Dragonslayers were so named because they were to be stronger than a dragon.   
  
It wasn't difficult to guess why the emperor wanted the country out of the way - Fanelia was allied with Asturia, the main country that Zaibach were at war with, and it's army was legendary. The planet's best warriors resided in Fanelia; ironically liking the peacefulness of the relatively poor country compared with the busy lifestyle of the Asturian cities.  
  
Folken remembered what Fanelia was like - lush meadows and forests and simple buildings. It was a tiny country, but very beautiful. He remembered when he was young playing in the palace gardens with his little brother. That was before the accident had occurred, the accident, which had cost him his right arm.   
  
He took off his long black cloak and looked at the metal arm that had replaced the one that had been torn from him. He generally kept his false metal arm hidden from view: it reminded him not just of his terrible accident but brought back the memories of the events that had unfolded following it. It was no good thinking what could have happened; if the accident hadn't occurred, he would have been king of Fanelia, being the eldest son of the deceased king. King. The reality came back to him harshly. But it was pointless thinking about it. Everyone believed he was dead; there was no way he could ever possibly go back, except in his occasional wistful dreams.  
  
He had often wondered what sort of person his brother had grown into. All he could remember of him was a little five-year-old boy with messy black hair and with loads of energy tearing after him begging him to play. Now however, Van Slanzer de Fanel would be around fifteen years old, Dilandau's age. Dilandau reminded him a lot of the young hot headed, stubborn child he had played with for countless hours in his youth.  
  
If Van still lived in Fanelia, he would be in danger of the upcoming attack. Of course Folken would do nothing to try and stop Dilandau from accomplishing the mission, but he did worry.   
  
"Capture the dragon..." He repeated aloud. Thinking about it, the dragon mentioned in the letter didn't have to be literal and could be a number of things. It could be the king of Fanelia as Fanelia's royal crest bore a dragon, and since Van was a prince, or maybe even king as he was just about of age, the name would be for him. After all, it would make some sense to kidnap the king. But, wouldn't the emperor just have said in the mission briefing, "capture the king"? What was the point of using some codename that no one knew the meaning of? Dilandau didn't know what he was looking for and so his chances of success were now limited.   
  
It may be an army to rival the Dragonslayers of Zaibach. After all, how ironic would it be that "the dragon" defeated the dragon slayers? It would also make sense for Zaibach to kidnap an army of great power, to learn their secrets then dispose of them. But again, why didn't the emperor specify this? It was odd - the emperor didn't like confusion or disorder and yet this mission was written using the briefest of terms.   
  
He would now have to tell Dilandau of all the possibilities and hope that one of the two possibilities he had come up with was correct. So many resources would have to be wasted with this vague search and capture mission.   
  
Folken sighed - this really wasn't the best type of mission to send Dilandau on. He had to pray that the frenzied killing machine that Dilandau would inevitably become once he was thrust into battle wouldn't forget that his mission was to "capture" the dragon not "maim, kill, and then reduce the dragon to a pile of ashes."   
  
The dragon was protected from instant destruction but his homeland wasn't - Fanelia was to be destroyed, as it would mean one less threat for the Zaibach Empire.   
  
Folken looked over the briefing again and hoped his brother would be all right.   
  
***  
  
Please review - I really like reviews ^_^ 


	5. Chapter 4

(A/N - Sorry this chapter took so long to update - it had been finished for a while, but I took so long to send it to the ultimately wonderful Ruth for proofreading, and then there was all the revision for my mock exams and other schoolwork related stuff... ok now I am making excuses. Well, here it is; another one of the more fun chapters to write - enjoy!)   
  
Dilandau marched into the cafeteria, slamming the door behind him; many of the soldiers of the fortress falling silent and, seeing his expression gave each other nervous glances. He scowled in response to the stares he was being given as he stormed through the hall and joined his Dragonslayers.   
  
All 15 of the young men in his regiment were seated at a long table at the far side of the dining hall, chatting amiably whilst obviously enjoying their food. The slayers noticed the sudden drop in noise level and raised their heads to discern what the reason was. Upon noticing Dilandau they all hurriedly stood to attention, professionalism on their faces - every one of the slayers had been well trained in how to address a commanding officer. Dilandau nodded to them in greeting as he approached the table and sat at his usual place at the head of the table. The slayers soon perceived, however, that he was in a foul mood, as he immediately demanded a full report from Gatti about the Dragonslayer's morning activities.  
  
"Shesta and I instructed the lower ranking slayers in their weapons exercise, sir. The elite did one on one sparring."   
  
"Any problems?" Dilandau asked irritably.   
  
"No sir."   
  
"Good. I will inspect their progression before the drills." Gatti glanced surreptitiously at Shesta - if anything was to go wrong they both knew that it would be the two of them who suffer. Especially me, he thought bitterly, as he favours Shesta.   
  
The majority of the slayers now gradually returned their attention to their dinner, with the exception of the elite, who were trying to furtively read Dilandau's expression without him noticing their shrewd glances; trying to fathom the reason for his unannounced absence.  
  
It wasn't long before Viole broke the somewhat uncomfortable silence.   
  
"Sir, where were you this morning?" The elite all waited in nervous anticipation, holding their breath. It was well known amoung them that Viole did not know the meaning of the word "discreet" There were only two possible outcomes; Lord Dilandau would either reprimand Viole for speaking out of turn, or he would answer him. It all depended on his mood; yet, judging from his scowl and irritable tone in which he was talking to Gatti with earlier it seemed likely that Viole would receive a sharp slap and be told not to ask needless questions.   
  
"I was busy this morning" the red eyed soldier said sharply, glaring briefly at Viole for daring to ask. The short tone of his words confirmed to all who heard that the mater was definitely closed. "The orders from Emperor Dornkirk have arrived - our services are needed in a few days. I will go through the briefing this evening, after the afternoon drills and mounted weapons-practice." The elite nodded to show that they understood these orders.  
  
Dilandau, having finished addressing his slayers, lapsed into silence, and gradually the general murmur of voices returned. Dilandau was half listening to the light hearted chatter between Viole and Guimel and let himself relax a little.  
  
He watched at his elite, his gaze drifting from face to face. Then suddenly, for a split second, a flash of blinding light flashed behind his eyes; causing a pain so sharp and severe he couldn't help but cry out and press the heels of his palms to his eye sockets. The pain vanished as abruptly as it came and he blinked a few times to clear his vision. His eyed widened in shock at what he saw before him.  
  
The walls of the room were fading, blending into a new background. The dark blue walls and metallic floor swirled before him to create a barren wasteland. The artificial white light vanished and was replaced by a dull reddish glow. A dark, overcast sky stretched out for miles and miles, unbroken by nothing but a flat landscape of reddish brown rocks and small burning trees.   
  
The tables, chairs and solders of the Vione were slowly fading into nothingness so that only the Dragonslayer's table was left, looking strangely out of place. Dilandau looked about him, moving his head rapidly from side to side. He focused on the faces of his Dragonslayers, but they were seemingly oblivious to the dramatic changes in the scenery that had occurred. Gatti and Shesta were looking at Dilandau, concern etched onto their faces. Gatti was speaking soundlessly, his lips moving but Dilandau could hear nothing.  
  
There was another flash of light, but this time Dilandau, expecting pain, felt none. Dilandau blinked as a reflex and when he opened his eyes and saw Gatti he gave a start. Gatti was now standing up, his eyes wide in terror, and his mouth open slightly in shock, a low scream coming from his throat. To Dilandau's horror the scream was prematurely cut short when a shadowed hand holding a large rock connected with the back of his head, smashing into his skull. Gatti fell to his knees upon impact, his neck slamming into the ground with a sickening snap, revealing the bloodied, concave mess that used to be the back of his head.  
  
Dilandau felt a surge of nausea and his hands flew to his mouth. He looked over to Shesta, seeking support, whimpering at the gruesome scene. Shesta, however, appeared to have troubles of his own. He was hunched on his knees a little way from where Dilandau was sitting, his hands gripping his stomach and his features twisted as if from agonising pain.  
  
The sky had darkened somewhat, making the space behind Shesta seem unnaturally black; Shesta stood out against the shadows.   
  
He instinctively seemed to realise that his commander was watching him, and his pained eyes rose to meet Dilandau's concerned gaze. Dilandau now saw a sharp sword penetrating from his flesh, which has been brutally forced through his organs and bones of his rib cage and now the tip had emerged from his stomach. The wound was bleeding freely, dark clots of blood pulsing past the cold steel of the blade, staining the black leather of the dragonslayer uniform a dark red. Shesta's eyes rolled in the sockets and he slumped forwards. Dilandau's eyes followed the glint of the blade. The same hand that had ended Gatti's life had its fingers wrapped around the hilt.   
  
"Lord Dilandau..." Shesta whispered, choking a little on the clots of blood that had managed to make their way into his lungs. Blood was slowly oozing from his mouth. The sword was cruelly withdrawn with a sharp tug and Shesta's eyes bulged as a spray of blood spurted from his wound. Then all was still.   
  
The figure turned its dark head to face Dilandau, though he could not make out any features in the black emptiness where the face should be.   
  
Dilandau gasped- this couldn't be happening to his men... it couldn't! It...it had to be a nightmare... but he wasn't asleep... He brought up a shaky hand to touch the side of his face and found that some of Shesta's blood had splattered there. When he felt the moisture of the red droplets he struggled for breath ... they were there... this was real! What was happening!?! He stood up, making his chair crash as it fell over, only for it to vanish along with the Dragonslayer's table.   
  
A high-pitched scream caught his attention - Dallet was backing away from that person, that demon, his sword drawn. He was trying to fend off the enemy, but to no avail. The now bloodied blade of the demon sliced forward ripping open Dallet's stomach, making him double over and drop his sword. Standing triumphantly over the fallen slayer the demon positioned the sword over Dallet's head, preparing to make a simple stab downwards. The figures movements were painfully slow, making it very clear to Dilandau what its intentions were.  
  
"N..no!" Dilandau reached out towards the two, trying to draw the shadow's attention away from the murder of his slayer, trying anything to try and prevent the hideous fate that he knew would befall Dallet. But it was useless - he brought his hand back to his mouth as the sword cleanly impaled Dallet through the top of his skull, the tip emerging from Dallet's jaw; the sickening splintering sound almost more than he could bear. The expression on Dallet's face was one of agony, his glazed eyes staring blankly forward. His body fell to the ground, his head slowly sliding off of the sword. "Gatti... Shesta... Dallet!" Dilandau whispered disbelievingly stumbling backwards a little.   
  
"Sir?" Dilandau heard a distant disembodied voice, and for a moment, frantically looked around for the source of the calm sound.   
  
There was movement behind him, a gasp, then a low moan that snapped Dilandau out of his searching. Dilandau spun around and saw Guimel staggering towards him. At first it appeared that he was ok, albeit a little dirtied up; his clothes were soaked in blood and stained with dirt. However, his hands were clumsily clawing at his throat, while his eyes were open wide and his teeth clenched. He fell to his knees and gave a triumphant yank at his neck, and a small knife came away.   
  
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion for Dilandau - Guimel looked at the dagger in his hand, and only then did it seem to register in his mind what had happened. He screamed and dug the heel of his palms into his neck in vain, trying to stop the blood as it spurted over him. Dilandau could see the pain growing in Guimel's features, and the panic. Dilandau wanted to rush over to him, to help him, but a cold hand was on his arm, preventing him from nearing the wounded slayer.   
  
"Don't touch me!" Dilandau screamed, jerking away from the grasp. He searched for the source of the touch, but there was no one close enough to have done so. He ran his shaking, bloody hand through his hair and turned his attention back to Guimel, but it was too late. Guimel was on his back, his pale curly hair matted with blood and dirt, his face twisted in pain. He too had been defeated.   
  
There was a clash of metal on metal, and Dilandau's head snapped in the direction of the harsh noise. Miguel was fighting with it! Miguel was in one on one combat with the shadow!   
  
"You killed them all!" Dilandau heard Miguel snarl through his clenched teeth as he forced the black clad demon backwards through the contact of the swords. The two people broke apart and lunged at each other, causing the two blades to screech in anger upon contact. Miguel, in a sudden burst of agility disarmed the figure, sending the black blade flying through the dark sky and drove his sword forward. The demon sidestepped and its strong hands grabbed Miguel's elbow and wrist. Fear was etched on Miguel's face as the figure stood facing him, and slowly gave way to pain as the vice like hands began to tighten. He involuntarily dropped his sword and tried to twist away from his enemy.   
  
Dilandau saw the demon slam his knee into Miguel's stomach and watched in shock as Miguel fell to his knees, winded from the blow. Miguel recovered quickly and reached for his sword, which was now mere centimetres away from his hands, but the demon had other ideas. It moved quickly behind Miguel and before he could even brush his fingers against the hilt the vice like hands were around the Dragonslayer's throat. Miguel gave a strangled cry and abandoned the sword as both of his hands went to his neck and tried to pry off the black hands of the shadow. His eyes were wide and his body was frantically jerking and twisting in a vain attempt to free himself from the slow death.   
  
Dilandau could do nothing but watch as Miguel gave one last tug at the hands about his neck, and then go limp.   
  
Dilandau felt light headed at the sight of all of his men lying on the floor, lifeless, some drenched in their own blood. Amidst of all of the slaughter was the shadow, standing tall and triumphant. It titled its head back and laughed, the only sound it had made throughout the entire massacre. It was a haunting noise, made with a harsh, yet obviously youthful voice. Dilandau staggered, a wave of nausea passing through him. His heart was beating wildly, the laugh ringing in his ears. He shut his eyes tightly and covered his ears, blocking out the sight and sounds of the horrendous event.   
  
"Lord Dilandau?" Dilandau kept his eyes shut; he didn't want to see any more.   
  
"Sir, are you alright?" A hand was placed on his shoulder and gently shook him. He shuddered at the contact and in a reflexively lashed out. He opened his eyes and saw fifteen pairs of eyes gazing worriedly at him, all questioning him. He opened his mouth slightly and glanced around - the Vione was back - the tables, chairs, and soldiers. Gatti had his hand placed firmly on his shoulder.   
  
"Sir?" The concern was unmistakable.   
  
"I...I...." Dilandau struggled for words, snapping his head from side to side. What had happened? His slayers... they were all here, all alive... But he saw them! He saw them all, lying there... "I'm fine!" He said, his a little too loudly, mostly to reassure himself. He fixed his gaze directly into Gatti's eyes  
  
"I'm fine!" he repeated and shook the comforting hand off of his shoulder, then turned on his heel to hastily leave the cafeteria.   
  
***  
  
Please review! I really like reviews!! 


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